The path lead far; and lo, my vision met
Old forfeit hopes. I, as on homeward quest,
By recognizing trees was bidden rest,
And pitying leaves looked down and sighed, “Forget!”
Mr. Upson has one of his characteristic touches in the words “old forfeit hopes,” pictured as starting suddenly before one in the new path that has beguiled him. In looking over the Octaves, which embrace a variety of themes, one doubts if his selections have adequately represented the finely textured lines, pure and individual diction, and the ripe and mellow flavor of it all.
Mr. Upson’s work has had its meed of recognition abroad: his first volume, Westwind Songs, contained a warmly appreciative introduction by
“Carmen Sylva,” the poet-queen of Roumania, and his drama, The City, just issued in Edinburgh, is introduced by Count Lützow of the University of Prague, a well-known scholar and authority upon Bohemian literature. Taking a backward glance at the first volume before looking at The City, one finds few of the ear-marks of a first collection of poetry, which it must become the subsequent effort of the writer to live down.
The lines “When We Said Good-Bye” are among the truest in feeling, though almost too intimate to quote; and this sympathetic lyric, entitled “Old Gardens,” has a delicate grace:
The white rose tree that spent its musk
For lovers’ sweeter praise,